


The Mind Is A Fragile Thing

by Fangirlism_is_cool



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Arguments, Companionship, John-centric, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Self Harm, Suicide, bad childhood, slight romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlism_is_cool/pseuds/Fangirlism_is_cool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There wasn’t a lot that John could hide from Sherlock Holmes, but his illness was one of them"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mind Is A Fragile Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I was feeling really shitty and slightly suicidal and I thought this was a better way to get it all out. Thus, not my best work.  
> I am writing from experience. I was diagnosed with clinical depression 2 years ago, so most of how John feels is how I feel a lot of the time.  
> Also, I love getting comments, like, you have NO idea how much I love it. So PLEASE leave me a comment?? Even if just one word saying what you liked/didn't like about the fic, please? :3

There wasn’t a lot that John could hide from Sherlock Holmes, but his illness was one of them. He was diagnosed when he was 18 and had been on and off medication ever since. Of course, to some people, clinical depression wasn’t a real illness. He’d heard it all; ‘just stop being sad’, ‘choose to be happy’, ‘think happy thoughts and you’ll be happy’. It wasn’t that simple though. He’d given up trying to explain and just stopped telling people. It wasn’t really their business anyway.  
When John had moved in with Sherlock and realised what he could do, he’d been terrified that his secret would be outed. But Sherlock had never made any comments in the 2 years they’d known each other so John figured he was safe. He always made sure to keep his scars hidden, although he didn’t leave scars if he could help it. Living with Sherlock Holmes, John discovered that even the smallest things are noticeable. Things did get better for a while after he moved in with Sherlock. He had a reason to live again something to wake up for.

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

21st June 2011  
John came rushing in the door to 221B frantically searching for Sherlock as he went. He’d gotten an alarming text from his flatmate while on the way to Tesco and had immediately turned around.  
“Sherlock?!” he called, racing around the flat. He ran to his bedroom and found Sherlock laying perfectly still, in his ‘I’m in my mind palace’ pose. “Sherlock what the fuck?!” yelled John.  
Sherlock sighed and opened his eyes.  
“Really John, can you not see I’m busy?” he said, glancing at John.  
“Don’t give me that!” yelled John. “I get a text from you asking me to come home immediately as you’re concerned something might have gone wrong, and knowing your current experiment it can only be a bad thing, but I get home to find everything perfectly fine and you in bed!”  
“There’s no need to shout John. I simply required your help-”  
“Help with what?! What could possibly have been so important you couldn’t wait half an hour for me to get home?”  
“I need your phone.”  
John’s mouth fell open and he stared, dumbfounded.  
“My phone. Sherlock I thought you were in trouble! I thought you were dying or being attacked or-”  
“Don’t be ridiculous John, if I was being attacked I would hardly need your help” said Sherlock casually, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and strode into the living room. John followed.  
“I’m your friend Sherlock, if you were being attacked I would want to help you.”  
“I neither need nor want your help John” he replied, shrugging into his coat. “As I’ve said before, you can be invaluable to me at times but right now, you’re just in my way.”  
With that, Sherlock strode out the door, tying his scarf around his neck as he went. John stared after him until he heard the front door slam, at which point he collapsed down onto the sofa. He crossed his arms and lent forward, pulling himself into as small a position as possible. He felt tears prick at his eyes and he blinked them away furiously. Johns grip tightened on his biceps as he replayed the conversation. Sherlock didn’t need or want him around. Who was he kidding? Of course he didn’t. Sherlock was a brilliant minded, human being whereas John... Well, he was a pathetic, lonely man who didn’t deserve someone like Sherlock in his life. John was useless to Sherlock, a cling on who needed to get his own life, rather than pine away at Sherlock’s heels, hoping for any stray bits of danger that came floating his way. John could feel the urge rising in him. He hadn’t cut himself since before he’d met Sherlock. He hadn’t felt the need to. But the need for the sweet bite of metal against his skin was too loud to ignore. He got up and headed to his bedroom. He’d gotten rid of all his razors when he’d moved in with Sherlock, determined that it would be a new start for him. He opened the bedside draw and his eyes were immediately drawn to the small but sharp pocket knife he had kept from his army days. Removing his trousers, John settled himself on the edge of his bed, his hand running over the faint scars of his past. His right hand gripped his thigh while his left placed the knife against the smooth of his skin. The cold edge of the knife sent a shiver down Johns back and he drew the blade across his thigh, reveling in the sweet sting of the cut. He watched as the blood poured down his leg, moving the blade to cut once again. He made a series of 10 cuts, running down the expanse of his thigh, before finally dropping the knife, his hand shaking. Tears found themselves streaming down Johns face and he used a t-shirt to soak up the blood pooling from the cuts....

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

25th December 2011  
John and Sherlock had been in a relationship for 6 months. At first, John wasn’t sure how to feel about Sherlock’s declaration that he had done research and thought they should be in a relationship. That quickly went out the window though as Sherlock bent to kiss him, slow and sweet, like a kiss straight out of a fairy-tale. They celebrated their 6 month anniversary with a party. Of course, to the people they invited it was a simple Christmas party. They had a drink, opened presents, and John got stuck under the mistletoe and ended up having to kiss Molly, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. He made it up to Sherlock later though. Once everyone was gone, John dragged Sherlock into his room, quickly divesting him of his suit. He pushed Sherlock onto the bed and climbed on top of him, his already hard cock brushing against Sherlock’s, forcing a moan from each of them. They rutted and thrust against each other until they came together, and fell backwards, sated and breathless.

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

5th January 2012  
Sherlock had been working on a particularly grueling case for the last 3 days. He was getting increasingly snappy and often saying careless and mean things towards John. After not sleeping for 72 hours, John was begging Sherlock to sleep.  
“Sherlock please” he said, placing his hand on Sherlock’s arm. “You need to sleep.”  
“I don’t sleep when I’m working John” he replied, shrugging his arm out of John’s grip. A stab of hurt hit John in the chest but he ignored it.  
“I know, but you’ve been running ragged for 3 days straight. You need to rest, or else you’ll collapse.”  
Sherlock sneered.  
“I don’t need you telling me what will happen John.”  
“I know you don’t but I care about you. You can’t keep doing this, you’ll end up seriously hurting yourself. I’m your friend and your partner-”  
“I don’t need your concern” said Sherlock, cutting him off. “I’ve never wanted or needed your concern. I don’t have friends John. Alone is what I have. Alone protects me. I don’t need Lestrade butting in with his useless ‘help’ and I certainly don’t need you.”  
With that, Sherlock grabbed his coat and bounded down the stairs, slamming the door on the way out. John waited until he heard the door slam before breaking down. He’d tried so hard. He’d tried to be a good friend, a good boyfriend but he just wasn’t good enough. Sherlock didn’t need him fucking up his life. It would be better for everyone if he just didn’t exist. He only stuck around nowadays for Sherlock anyway, and if Sherlock didn’t want him.... Making up his mind, John went to kitchen and wrote a note for Sherlock.  
Dear Sherlock, by the time you read this it’ll probably be too late. I know you don’t need me and that you don’t want me around, but I couldn’t leave you without saying goodbye. I know you don’t care, and you’ll probably find a new blogger soon. But just know that I love you. I think I did from the moment I met you. Live for yourself Sherlock, don’t let anyone tell you who you are is wrong. You are perfect just the way you are. All my love, John.  
Folding the note and writing Sherlock’s name on it, he made his way to the bathroom and the medicine cabinet.....

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

Sherlock, it’s John. You need to get to the hospital immediately. MH

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

Sherlock sat next to John’s hospital bed, clutching his hand, silent tears streaming down his face.  
“John” he whispered. “Please wake up. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it, please wake up.”  
The only reply is the beeping of John’s heart monitor.  
“I need you John, please, I need you so much” he sobbed into the bed sheet. “I love you, I love you so much. Please come back to me.”  
The beeping of the monitor suddenly cut out, a single line running across the screen.  
“Doctor!!” screamed Sherlock. “Doctor, please!!”  
A team of nurses ran into John’s room with a trolley full of medical equipment....

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

15th January 2012  
Sherlock stands on top of St Barts roof, his phone to his ear, his eyes fixed upon Mycroft on the ground below.  
“Sherlock, don’t do anything stupid” said Mycroft, his exterior calm but his voice giving away the fear beneath it.  
“There’s no point to anything anymore” he replied, tears filling his eyes. “Not without John.”  
“It isn’t the end of the world Sherlock, please just come down and-”  
“Of course it’s the end of the world!” screamed Sherlock. “I finally find someone who loves me and I go and fuck up their life so much they kill themselves!”  
“John love you Sherlock, he wouldn’t want you to do this” pleaded Mycroft, his voice erratic.  
“I know he loves me. And I love him. Which is why I need to be with him” said Sherlock calmly. “Goodbye Mycroft.”  
Sherlock threw his phone away on the roof of the building and took a step forward. The last thing he heard was Mycroft calling his name. The last thing he thought of was John. His precious John. He would get to see him again. With a smile, Sherlock closed his eyes as the ground came up to meet him....

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

18th January 2012  
Mycroft Holmes and Mrs Hudson stood in front of the single marble gravestone. Mycroft had one arm around Mrs Hudson, who was crying loudly into a handkerchief, while his other hand gripped his umbrella tight enough that his knuckles turned white.  
“It just isn’t fair” gulped Mrs Hudson. “To lose two such precious boys...” she broke of, a fresh wave of sobs wracking her body. Eventually, she turned and walked away, leaving Mycroft alone at the grave. Only then did his vision of calm and collected break and he allowed himself to feel the grief. Tears pricked at his eyes but he blinked them away.  
“Goodbye little brother” he said, placing his hand atop the grey marble. “Look out for him Doctor Watson.” With a little nod, Mycroft turned and ambled back up the pathway to his waiting vehicle. Anthea was waiting for him and for once, not on her phone. Her eyes were rimmed with red. Mycroft took one last look at the stone, still able to make out the pure writing on the face of it: 

Here lies Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Never was there a pair more in love than this detective and his blogger.


End file.
